


there's a story in which my eyes shut

by brookeluvsdogs



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Gibson's Real Name Is Philippe Hugo Guillet, M/M, WARNING: VERY WHOLESOME
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23310757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookeluvsdogs/pseuds/brookeluvsdogs
Summary: Tommy wakes before Philippe as usual.
Relationships: Gibson/Tommy (Dunkirk)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28
Collections: song prompt





	there's a story in which my eyes shut

**Author's Note:**

> tan pointed out that I manage to get some hand holding and some sleeping in every fic I write, this is no exception.  
> HERE'S TO ALL MY TENDER BITCHES !!! *clinks glass*
> 
> song: How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep - Bombay Bicycle Club

Tommy woke before Philippe. As usual. Neither were early risers but somehow it was always Tommy who lay awake waiting.

He never bothered to get up and put the kettle on or make breakfast, Philippe was very particular about how strong his coffee was or how cooked his eggs were. He had learned the hard way that he was never going to receive positive feedback for his kitchen attempts. Better to let Philippe command the stove himself. Although, this did mean Tommy often found himself fidgety in the mornings. Conflict of wanting to stick by Philippe’s side, warm and cosy under the covers - bodies pressed together - versus wanting to get on with his day. 

_ Can I wake you up? _

He often took to studying the other’s man’s face. Relishing in the mornings he woke to find Philippe facing him, face gentle with sleep. Following the steep cheekbones, resisting the urge to run a hand through the soft curls, a hesitant hand hovering gentle over his skin. 

_ Is it late enough? _

Sun filtering through the half shut blinds. A zebra crossing of yellow daylit paint printed across the bedsheets, the walls, Philippe. Tommy imagined him slowly blinking his eyes against the sun, that perfect green caught in a direct ray of sun - striking and sinking. 

_ There’s a story in which my eyes shut.  _

If Philippe hadn’t woken up in the time Tommy spent studying, (with a gentle laugh at the concentration of his face), he would close his eyes and retrace all the curves and angles of his boyfriend’s face. Committing the frame to memory. Picturing the sun highlighting his sleep tousled hair or how he always looked most peaceful when a storm was raging outside. Those were Tommy’s favourite mornings; rain pelting the windows incessantly, the occasional rumble of far off thunder and Philippe’s sleeping features smoothed in utmost peace. 

_ Can I wake you up? _

His eyes flicked to the alarm clock on the bedside table, stark green numbers abrasive against the dimly lit bedroom. They blinked 8:34 AM at him in mockery of his predicament. Philippe’s hand lay between then, fingers splayed across the sheets. Tommy willed their sleeping owner to reach just a half a foot further, for those fingers to be spread across his back instead, head slotting into Philippe’s neck; warm and safe in their own little bedroom in their own little world. He reached slowly across the bed, stopping just short of the other man’s hand; a thin gap between their fingertips, digits outstretched in symmetry. He didn’t dare link their fingers, even though he knew Philippe was a heavy sleeper.

_ Is it late enough? _

Tommy watched the rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest in the background of their unmet hands. The fabric of his shirt lifted gently with every inhale, shifting back on the exhale. He matched their breathing; inhale, exhale, a two second pause, repeat. Over and over until, by some miracle, he was slowly lulled back to sleep. 

_ There’s a story in which my eyes shut …  _

**** Philippe woke before Tommy - a rarity in their routine. He leant back to look at the alarm clock to check he hadn’t just woken up extra early. It blinked 9:41 AM at him and he turned back to his lover with a smile. Something the day before must have worn him out. 

The extra sleep was already taking effect. Tommy looked refreshed, even asleep. No dark circles sitting heavily on his face for once, no bruised cap for his freckled cheeks. He looked younger, like he had no concerns other than the walk to school the next morning. The threat of adulthood responsibility lifted off his shoulders for a moment. 

He thought about getting up and making breakfast before Tommy woke. But, as he gazed at the sleeping man across from him, Philippe didn’t want anything more than to pull him close. So he did. 

He only had to lift his arm about a half a foot, reaching across his lover’s waist and pull him close. Tommy uttered a small murmur, waking enough to curl a fist in the front of Philippe’s shirt and bury his head in the crook of his neck. Philippe breathed in the scent of Tommy’s shampoo - the sharp, fruity smell of the cheap kid’s shampoo he insisted on using - a content smile drifting across his features. 

Both bodies settled; warm and content in the other’s arms, legs tangled together under the covers, breathing falling in unison again as they drifted off for a final time. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: eggsyjpg


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